


Healing

by Moonyssoliloquy



Series: It's the aftermath that's hard [1]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Therapy, he just wants to be okay, pls help marty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonyssoliloquy/pseuds/Moonyssoliloquy
Summary: “I’m afraid all the time,” Marty says softly, “I’m scared and I feel so lonely and confused and overwhelmed and some days are good but after one good day, I’ll have the shittiest days of my life.  And I don’t know what to do about it.  I’m trying to be strong and I’m trying to get it together because everyone’s happier this way and I’m just being selfish, but I want to go back to the way things were before.  I just, I screwed up so much and I hurt so many people and I feel like I have nowhere else besides Doc to even go.  And I know it’s all my fault so I shouldn’t be the one going to pieces here but I feel like such a fuck-up and I’m just so . . . I don’t know, I’m so lost.”
Relationships: Emmett "Doc" Brown & Marty McFly, Marty McFly/Jennifer Parker
Series: It's the aftermath that's hard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168772
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for explicit discussion of PTSD and indirect anxiety/depression
> 
> This can be read as part of a series with my other story "Because" but there might be some slight continuity issues as Marty's might not be in the exact same emotional place as he would be if he followed the trajectory of this story, but ig it works emotions are wild and everyone has highs and lows on the journey. 
> 
> Also, this story again is super Marty focused and I never know how to write Doc so if he seems off, I'm not sure if he does, I'm sorry about that. He's just kinda there is this story, oops
> 
> Enjoy!

“Martin? Martin McFly?”

Marty and Doc’s heads both snap up, looking around the clinic waiting room for the source of the voice. 

It’s a young-looking man with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. His eyes meet Marty’s and he affixes him with a small smile, the kind that Marty would describe as warm and comforting, had the person giving him said smile not been the man that is about to deem Marty clinically batshit crazy and throw him into the loony bin forever. 

“Follow me,” the man says, still smiling as he takes the forms Doc has filled out on him. They’re supposed to be filled out by a parent and Marty’s not sure if having Doc step in is totally allowed but he had vigorously fought the idea of either George or Lorraine accompanying this psychiatrist appointment. He’d felt bad fighting with them, sure, especially when this version of his mother hadn’t sworn at him and drunkenly yelled but instead just nodded solemnly at the end of the fight, softly telling Marty “if that’s what you think is best, baby.” But the guilt had quickly morphed into fear and panic and that oh so familiar feeling of loss when his father had picked up the argument, yelling at Marty for being unreasonable and ungrateful. 

He’d closed the fight with a sharp “I don’t know what’s gotten into you as of late, Martin, and I don’t know why you’re acting like this, but I hope it stops soon.”

Marty had been so stunned at that development he’d dropped the argument altogether, staring in shock, floundering to desperately shove the memory into his ‘things to cry about later and not worry about now’ box to avoid having a complete breakdown right there. Never in his life had his father raised his voice or even said an unkind word to Marty. And sure, that gentleness was born out of cowardice rather than love, and yeah that sucked, but hearing those cruel words from his father  _ hurt.  _

Nothing had compared to his mom’s comment a few hours later, though. Hearing Lorraine whisper shakily to George when she’d thought Marty was fast asleep, “he never used to be like this, what happened to our Marty?” with so much grief and longing in her voice, that had felt like being hit by a bus. 

Right after Lorraine has said it, Marty’s first reaction had been denial. There was no way his mom had said that. No way that she wanted a different version of him, didn’t love the version of him that existed right here and now. That’s . . . that’s just not what a mother is supposed to do. 

A small voice in his head had shut that down immediately, telling him that mothers aren’t supposed to yell cruel things at their children in an angry drunken haze either but that didn’t stop twin pines Lorraine. After that wonderful little discovery, denial had quickly morphed into anger. How dare they long for someone else when this Marty had gone through so damn much to get them together and give them happy lives? He had almost gotten run over, he had gotten locked in a car trunk, he had sat in a car while his mother was trying to feel him up and counseled her on why you shouldn’t drink, for God’s sake. 

Then again, it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart that he’d helped them He hadn’t set out to help his parents, it had just been pure selfishness.

After that, he had just felt guilty. Guilt for the life of the other Marty he had stolen, guilt for all the people that his multigenerational dumbassery through time had somehow hurt, everyone in that other 1985 and Edna Strickland’s dystopian time, and his own family. Both the one he had maybe left behind in god knows what realm and this new one who just wanted their better Marty back. 

He had spent the rest of the night staring at his hand, wondering if it would go translucent again as time corrected its mistake, wondering if it would be for the best if he just faded away, replaced by the Marty that everyone wanted back so badly. 

“Marty?”

Doc’s voice across the clinic waiting room startles him out of his thoughts. Blondie the Psychiatrist and Doc are both standing at the reception area door, waiting for Marty, who is still seated, rear planted firmly in his chair, to join them. 

“Sorry” he barely whispers, dragging himself to where they are.

“No worries,” the psychiatrist says before Doc can open his mouth to reassure Marty, still wearing that gentle smile.

Doc puts his arm on Marty’s back, half to guide him, half to offer him silent comfort and reassurance, leading Marty through the doors and into a wide hallway. 

Just when the awkward silence and apprehension is getting to be too much for Marty, Blondie stops and opens the door to one of the rooms lining the hall. 

“Take a seat wherever you’d like,” he says, gesturing to the room which is probably his office. 

Doc plants himself on a footstool, looking very at ease in a very awkward position, earning a little chuckle from Blondie. 

Marty sits stiffly in an ugly plastic chair next to the footstool, looking at Doc nervously. 

“Good afternoon, Martin and you too Dr. Brown, My name is Doctor Levi Spencer,” the psychiatrist starts, interrupting Marty’s anxious scanning of the room as he moves to sit behind the white desk, “you can call me Levi or Doctor Spencer, whichever you like.” 

Marty keeps his eyes from meeting Dr. Spencer’s gaze, choosing instead to look at the photos he has on his desk. There’s one of him, a redhead woman, and a toddler who closely resembles him. They’re all laughing in a way that makes Marty’s stomach clench once with jealousy then again with disgust at his initial reaction. 

“How are you doing, Martin, how has your week been? Did you do anything fun?” the doctor continues, clearly trying to make Marty feel at ease. 

Marty doesn’t  _ want  _ to be difficult, but he can’t get himself to open his goddamn mouth. He has a tendency to shut down in uncomfortable situations (Marty can count on one hand, the amount of words he says at the usual dinner with his family, either version) and this appointment is about as uncomfortable as it gets. Everything in Marty is telling him to either run and get far far away from this prison, or to respond with a sarcastic remark, just to say something to deflect from how . . . naked he feels. And Doc’s told him one hundred and ten times that it’s okay to show weakness, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks of you, yadda yadda yadda, but Marty  _ hates  _ this with every fiber of his being. 

“We blew up a circuit yesterday,” Doc prompts when the silence gets uncomfortably thick, looking just as awkward as Marty but clearly trying to make him feel at ease, “on accident, of course, but fun, nonetheless!” he continues, glancing at Dr. Spencer. 

Dr. Spencer looks between Marty who’s eyes are still fixed on the ground and Doc who’s looking between the phycologist and Marty with an expression of worry and maybe protectiveness. 

Spencer seems to realize his small talk isn’t doing anything for anyone and cuts to the chase,

angling himself to meet Marty’s downward gaze.

“Martin do you know why you’re here?” 

His voice is still infuriatingly gentle and that combined with the look on Doc’s face, guilt, sadness, and worry, all expressions that are very foreign to the physicist’s face, make Marty want to cry. 

Steeling his nerves, Marty looks up.

“It’s Marty,” he says softly, forcing himself to drop his arms from where they’re wrapped around his chest. 

“Sorry, what?” the psychiatrist asks, clearly caught off guard by his stubborn patient’s sudden participation

“I go by Marty, not Martin.”

“Oh, sorry about that, Marty,” Dr. Spencer says, smiling at Marty’s involvement, “now, do you know why you’re here? Or rather, why do you want to be here?”

“My parents took me to a doctor and she told me to see you.”

“Yes, I know, but why did  _ you  _ feel the need to seek intervention?”

Marty chews on his bottom lip, fighting the urge to look down again and go completely unresponsive. Deep down, Marty knows that he’s struggling and frankly, unable to cope with all the bullshit time travel brought into his life. On some better days, he’ll admit that to himself and realize getting help would be a good thing. That it’s okay to put himself in this vulnerable position and let other people see him struggle so he can heal. After all, he went through the same mental dilemma about opening up to Doc when he’d really been going through it with his old family (and now that his family is better Marty’s still complaining, what an ungrateful brat) but opening up to Doc had been the best decision he has ever made. 

But today’s not one of those clear-headed good days. After the argument with his parents and his mom’s statement yesterday, Marty feels so so  _ lost _ . 

It’s like that time Dave let go of a seven-year-old Marty in the deep end of a wave pool. He wasn’t tall enough to keep his head above water but he needed oxygen but he couldn’t get his bearings and every time he managed to get his head above the water he’d be hit by another wave and another wave, forcing him to swallow water but he needed air. 

Just living, existing feels just like that in this screwed-up timeline. He’s so alone and he has no idea what the hell is going on and he’s screwed up so many times and he feels so guilty and he needs to get back on his feet but every time he catches his footing, he’s knocked down by a wave bigger than the last, filling his lungs with water when they  _ desperately _ need oxygen and he can’t breathe, can’t breathe can’t-

Doc’s hand on his shoulder and Dr. Spencer’s soft but firm voice calling his name break him out of his panic. 

“Marty, take deep breaths,” the Psychiatrist says, “I understand processing so many emotions is tough, but we’ll work through it, step by step together. Anchor yourself in the here and now. Ground yourself.”

Humiliation and anger (at the stupid time machine, at everyone who decided it was a great idea to murder a 17-year-old in an alternate timeline, at him dumbass self who apparently can’t even think without causing a drama) bubble up Marty’s chest as he nods shakily, trying to discretely wipe his eyes before the moisture in them spills over. Every goddamn time Marty thinks he has it together, every good day where he feels he’s getter better, every two steps Marty takes forward, he takes twenty-five leaps backward. 

“Let me rephrase the question,” Dr. Spencer says, still smiling, “what do you want me to help you with? What do you see as the problem?”

And Doc is looking at him with hope in his eyes and Dr. Spencer is here trying to help Marty when he could be doing literally anything else in the world and Marty can’t let them down. He’s so tired of being a disappointment and with the one chance he had to make things a little right, he can’t toss it in the bin.

“I’m afraid all the time,” Marty says softly, “I’m scared and I feel so lonely and confused and overwhelmed and some days are good but after one good day, I’ll have the shittiest days of my life. And I don’t know what to do about it. I’m trying to be strong and I’m trying to get it together because everyone’s happier this way and I’m just being selfish, but I want to go back to the way things were before. I just, I screwed up so much and I hurt so many people and I feel like I have nowhere else besides Doc to even go. And I know it’s all my fault so I shouldn’t be the one going to pieces here but I feel like such a fuck-up and I’m just so . . . I don’t know, I’m so lost.”

“Marty, mistakes are a part of life,” Doc starts, rapidly and clumsily, trying to console Marty before either Marty or Dr. Spencer can even process what has been said.

“Everyone makes millions upon billions of mistakes in their lifetime and you went to enormous lengths to ensure that you not only fixed the lives of anyone you may have hurt but improved them. And nothing you ever did was done with malicious intent. In the years I’ve known you, I’ve never witnessed you act with anything other than compassion and maybe a little teenage hot-headedness here and there, but never with anything other than the best of intentions and-”

“Dr. Brown?” Spencer says, “if you would let me speak to Marty,”

Doc looks like he wants to keep going but he looks between Marty and Dr. Spencer for a second before snapping his mouth shut. 

“Marty,” the doctor says, turning to him, “could you tell me what happened that you would like to go back before?”

“Not really,” Marty says.

For the first time, Marty sees Dr. Spencer’s smile fully fade.

“You can’t or you don’t want to?”

That makes Marty mad. He’s sitting here, trying to cooperate, trying to put himself out there, make himself look like a selfish idiot for everyone else’s good, and this guy is sitting here scolding him. Marty scoffs angrily, starting to shut back down.

“I’m sorry, Marty, I shouldn’t have said it that way. What I mean is if the memories themselves are out of reach or if you don’t feel comfortable discussing them. Both are fine. I want you to know, though this will work best if you are fully open and vulnerable with me, I will never judge you for not feeling ready. Which is it?”

Marty shrugs halfheartedly.

“Both, I guess. The memories are kinda cloudy and I get kinda jumpy when I think about it. And I’m not really ready to talk about it. I don’t wanna think about it at all. And I know that’s the whole point of being here and all and I’m really sorry I’m wasting your time but I don’t wanna go there. It was just scary and everything is different now and . . . yeah.”

Dr. Spencer nods, smiling. 

“Don’t be sorry, we’ll get there when the time is right. Now, based on my observations and the files from your conversation with your general physician, I do see the benefit in us continuing these appointments. It’s clear you’ve endured a lot of trauma in a short period and your brain isn’t entirely sure as to how to process it. This is completely natural as the brain, especially in a key developmental phase like yours is in, isn’t meant to be put under that kind of strain. The heaviness of trauma like that can cause the brain to incorrectly store those memories. This can trigger a mental illness known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Are you familiar with it?”

“Like the kind vets who came back from Vietnam had? It’s part of the reason why they wanted to bring them home, right?”

“Well yes, it’s often seen in soldiers but PTSD is not something that only affects veterans. It’s a response to any kind of trauma that’s simply too much for your brain to process correctly.

_ Well, there’s a thought _ , Marty thinks sourly.  _ People who fought for the country can take all of that and all it took for my chicken brain to snap was two trips to the 50s, one trip to the 19th century, and another to the 21st. Perfect. _

“Marty? Does that make sense?”

Marty gives a single stiff nod, doing anything to avoid meeting Doc or Spencer’s eyes.

“Now I think that if we continue these appointments, we can work through whatever trauma is hurting you. I’m hesitant to give you a diagnosis after just 45 minutes, but I am fairly certain this is what’s going on. We’ll work together on how to process trauma correctly and get your brain to correctly store that memory.”

Spencer then pauses, clearly searching for the words. 

“Marty, I want you to get better. Your parents and doctor and friend clearly do as well, otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. But it has to come from you. You need to be ready to put yourself in some uncomfortable positions and set yourself up to be hurt and vulnerable so you can heal. I know you’re trying to be strong, but shoving everything in a box so you can pretend you’re feeling okay? Eventually, everything is going to bubble over and you’re going to find yourself in a far worse situation than you could’ve ever imagined. You need to feel what you’re feeling and acknowledge it. Do you understand? And do you have any questions?”

Marty stares at the ground. It feels like he’s fighting a war. Because just when it feels like the entire goddamn universe has it out for him and he can’t rely on anyone else because they’re all  _ different _ , his own mind has decided to turn on him, too. 

All he wants is to feel okay. To be happy, laughing with Doc as they try to work on another one of his crazy projects, to spend another carefree night with Jennifer under the stars, to feel safe, to feel guilt-free, to feel  _ wanted _ . 

Some days, he’s able to admit he has a problem, that he’s floundering underwater and needs help because otherwise, he’s going to drown. But other days, Marty is so far gone he can’t even admit to himself that there’s something wrong. He just pushes and pushes through the day, desperately trying to assure himself that nothing is wrong because he can’t take the strain of knowing how badly he’s messed up when in reality Marty is literally right on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. And then at the end of the day, it’ll all come crashing, hitting Marty so hard he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t function, can’t anything through the overwhelming panic. 

“Dr. Spencer,” Marty says weakly. 

Both Doc and Dr. Spencer look up, both of them wearing wide, encouraging smiles.

Marty takes a deep breath, trying to speak in his best not-on-the-verge-of-crying voice.

“I want to get better. I’m so over feeling this way and I’m over making everyone worried and sad and I don’t want to let you or anyone else down. I’m trying, but some days . . . I don’t know.”

Marty trailed off, chewing his lip hesitantly.

“I just, I want this. I want to get better.”

Dr. Spencer watches Marty quizzically for a second before his face breaks off into a wide smile.

“I’m so glad, Marty.”

Sitting a little straighter, Marty looks shakily between Doc and Dr. Spencer, giving them both a tentative smile. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> omg again with the not letting me indent. Sorry about that
> 
> I hope you liked it! Thank you for being here (and if you have suggestions for more snippets in this storyline feel free to let me know). And for those of you facing winter storms and cold, stay warm!


End file.
